Disclaimer: Just playing in someone else's sandbox.
Here is what Dean knows:
Aside from, like, Dean himself and their dad, Sammy is one of the most stubborn people he knows. He might be more stubborn than Dean—not that Dean would ever admit that. Look, all he's saying is that Sammy is stubborn and Sammy's probably the least likely person to give up, okay, so he's not going to die, which is something Dean has to believe if he's going to be successful at this… compartmentalization thing. That's the point.
Also the point: Sammy wakes up while Dean is away, which is just, like, proof positive that Sammy is the most stubborn person Dean's ever met. Except for maybe, like, their dad.
So the nurse comes and gets him from where he's camped out in the waiting room, because there's, like, some stupid rule about, like, not being in there when they're talking about people which is stupid, because Dean doesn't care about other people, he just cares about Sam. Anyway. He's camped out in the waiting room because like hell is he leaving when Sam's unconscious in the ICU, and the nurse comes to the door and is like "Smith," so Dean stands up and is like "Me," only it takes him a minute because he forgot that their name was supposed to be Smith, not Winchester.
Anyway, the nurse says "Smith" and then she comes and gets him and it's three in the morning, which is way before visiting hours so Dean thinks fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck all the way back to the consultation room she leads him to. There's a doctor there, which makes the fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck part of his brain go into overdrive because a doctor needing to talk to him about his brother at three in the morning is never a good sign.
The doctor's this almost-hot blonde chick (if Dean were thinking about that right now) and she's wearing rumpled scrubs and she looks a little bit like she just woke up. She probably did; so did Dean, so the nurse is the only one who's really functioning at 100 percent right now and she just closes the door behind her so it's just Dean and the doctor in the consultation room.
"Hey Doc," Dean says.
"Mr. Smith," the doctor says in this way too serious voice like she's about to tell him Sammy has cancer or something. "Mr. Smith, your brother woke up."
And Dean can't help the smile that cracks his face and makes his cheeks hurt because he knew it, he knew it. He knew Sammy would wake up; he's a stubborn bastard and he wouldn't just leave Dean high and dry like that, he wouldn't. Not again.
"That's—that's great, right?" Dean's still grinning, facing the doctor like, what's the problem, lady, because Sam's awake, which is, like, best news ever.
"That's promising, yes…" she says, but it's like she's being careful, like she doesn't want to say too much.
"But?" Dean asks because he can hear it, he can hear the but lurking underneath her words. "But what, Doc?"
The doctor takes a deep breath and levels Dean with this look that's half pitying, half annoyance which is actually not so unfamiliar to Dean.
"What?" Dean asks, and crosses his arms because defensive is kind of his default to that pitying/annoyed look.
"But he doesn't know who he is. Or who you are." She pauses and Dean just kind of sits there for a minute because, like. Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, he thinks, but has to take a deep breath because fuck is not as conducive as he wishes it was.
So the doctor goes on, talking about tests and research and that's all well and good, but all Dean can think is that Sam doesn't know he's Sam, doesn't know that Dean is Dean, that Dean's his brother, doesn't know anything; he doesn't know anything at all.
"Can I see him?" he asks, interrupting Dr. Blondie in the middle of her spiel but he doesn't really give a fuck, honestly, doesn't care if it's rude to interrupt a doctor, doesn't care, because all he cares about is Sammy being okay and it sounds like he isn't okay and Dean just kind of has one default when Sammy isn't okay—making sure he's okay. Which, as mentioned, it sounds like he isn't.
"It's three in the morning," the doctor says blankly, like Dean can't read a damn clock and Dean just kind of huffs in annoyance because yes, thank you, he has that figured out for himself, but they were the ones who woke him up.
"And I want to see my brother."
"He's very disoriented Mr. Smith, I don't think—"
"Disoriented? He doesn't know who he is, I really think that time of day has fuck all to do with it, Doc." Which, okay, might have been the wrong choice of words. When dealing with authority figures, rule number one was, like, don't use foul language. Not that it's stopped him before.
"Visiting hours begin at 8am," she says primly, like she hasn't just dropped a bomb on Dean's fucking world and then told him—nope, sorry, he can't see Sammy, even though Sam doesn't know who Dean is, doesn't know who Sam is.
"What the fuck," he says, because like, literally what the fuck.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Smith. Rules are rules."
And then she leaves him standing in the consultation room like fuck fuck fuck fuck.
So it's five hours until visiting hours start and Dean spends them going through the shitty coffee by the gallon and pressing the buzzer for the back every hour on the hour. They don't let him back until it's 8:00 and then he- doesn't run, but he walks pretty fast until he's rounding the corner to Sammy's room, which actually turns out to be a mistake (not that Dean will ever, ever admit to it) because Sam is awake and his eyes are wild and he scoots back in the bed so fast the IV line pulls tight and starts to alarm and then there are alarms and buzzers and Sammy's just staring at him like who the fuck are you.
Dean can (barely) remember when Sam was born, can barely remember his Dad taking him up to the hospital. He's got this fuzzy recollection of peering in the window of the nursery, of Dad pointing Sammy out and saying He's your responsibility, Dean. It's a mantra Dad repeated often- and now here they were.
Dean backs up against the wall of the ICU room as nurses run in and try to calm Sammy down, and he just thinks. Fuck, over and over and over again, just repetition of it, just a mantra in his head of fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
Because how the fuck is he supposed to take care of Sammy if Sammy doesn't even know who he is?
They don't actually make Dean leave while they calm Sam down (thank fuck) so he just waits until Sam is pinned back against the bed, breathing heavily and watching Dean like Dean's about to gank him.
"Hey, Sammy," Dean says when the nurses kind of clear out. He steps closer to the bed, but keeps his distance, keeps his hands dug deep into his pockets. "I'm Dean." And this is, like, the weirdest thing he's ever done, and Dean has done some Grade A Weird Shit in his lifetime; reintroducing himself to his little brother who has no fucking clue who Dean is, or how they're related… that's Top of the Line Weird Shit.
Sam nods kind of warily, kind of like he doesn't want Dean to come any closer, but understands that Dean is somehow important to him. "My name's Sam."
There's this rush of emotion that Dean feels at the back of his throat, and for a second, he thinks he might start crying. He doesn't, just, like, swallows and forces a grin onto his stiff face and reaches out to pat Sam's hand.
Sam recoils and Dean pulls back, hands raised, like, I'm unarmed, and he doesn't let it show on his face how fucking terrifying it is to see Sam pull back from him like Dean's a stranger. Dean wiped the kid's ass before he could do it himself—he's touched a whole hell of a lot more intimate places than, like, a hand, but Sam doesn't know who he is, so of course he doesn't want Dean touching him. Fair is fair.
"Hey, no problem, kiddo. No touching. Got it." Dean wants to tell Sam everything, all of it, but his tongue is, like, stuck to the roof of his mouth. "You, uh, you want me to leave?"
Sam blinks slow, like he's processing, and then he looks up at Dean. "Who—who are you?" he asks, instead of answering the question and Dean swallows hard, because, fuck, he didn't realize Sam's ability to make memories was damaged too, and is this the rest of his life, is he just going to be stuck introducing himself over and over and over to his baby brother? And that starts the fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck mantra up again and Dean just—
"I—I'm Dean, my name's Dean," he says finally, once he can form a thought that isn't fuck.
"No—No, I remember—that. I mean. Who. What are you?" Sam frowns, a v-forming between his brows and he's looking at Dean like he should know who he is, he should remember, but he can't and it's pissing him off. "Who—who are you to me?"
Despite the relief that Dean feels at Sammy remembering his name, it still hurts for him to pull a chair closer to Sam's bed (but not close enough to touch, just in case he forgets—Sammy doesn't want to be touched), lean forward, and force a grin. "I'm Dean. I'm your big brother. And you're Sammy—my pain-in-the-ass little brother."
Sam huffs what might be a laugh, but then squints at Dean again, like he's trying very hard to remember something. "What—where are our parents?"
And then Dean realizes. There are lots of fucked up things he's had to do. He never thought one of them would be re-explaining to his baby brother all about the fucked-up Winchester history. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, he thinks.
AN: thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! Chapter three is on the way!
